


Chewing and Crunching

by bananabog



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: FrankenStan AU, Gen, M/M, Mystery!Trio!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananabog/pseuds/bananabog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley “Frankenstan” Pines, Stanford’s legally deceased twin brother, re-animated illegally and approximately 120 hours ago, continues to stare dumbly at him.</p><p>Fiddleford still has two hours of watch duty to go.</p><p>Based on the Frakenstan!AU by arodudejude on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chewing and Crunching

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit, I knew literally nothing about this AU until I looked it up three hours ago and. I’m fucking sold. ALSO FIDDS HAS A PONYTAIL I DID NOT KNOW I NEEDED THIS IN MY FUCKING LIFE
> 
> For more background reading on the AU, here’s the “official” breakdown/summary of the AU’s timeline/plot (http://arodudejude.tumblr.com/post/143442861134/frankenstan-au-official-canon-timeline-up-until), and this post by thesnadger (http://arodudejude.tumblr.com/post/143076706899/thesnadger-arodudejude-k-im-kinda-stuck-and), which hcs the Fiddlestan interaction that became the basis for this fic.
> 
> Vague hinting at failed!one-sided!past!FiddAuthor, and Fiddlestan so gen it’s barely there.
> 
> I apologize in advance for butchering this.

Fiddleford is neither an extreme extrovert nor an introvert, but he’s pretty sure he’s _somewhat_ of a people person. He’s good at being friendly, making small talk, getting people to open up… defusing socially awkward situations. Lord knows he’s had more than his fair share of _those_ in the years he’s studied with, graduated with, and later, worked alongside his ex-employer and best friend, Stanford “A Genius in All Ways Except Socially and Emotionally” Pines.

“Are ya like… Ford’s apprentice, a’sumthin’?”

Fiddleford’s smile is amicable externally; his pride shrivels up and dies a little on the inside.

“Just a friend.”

x x x 

Stanley “Frankenstan” Pines, Stanford’s legally deceased twin brother, re-animated illegally and approximately 120 hours ago, continues to stare dumbly at him.

Fiddleford clears his throat. “I, ah… I suppose I haven’t formally introduced myself. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Part-time inventor. …I used to help your brother with his experiments.”

Stanley flinches a little at the word “experiment” and Fiddleford mentally slaps himself. That had _not_ been the best choice of words.

“Not that _you’re_ an experiment, of course!” he adds quickly, guiltily, as Stan gives him the dirtiest of glares from where he’s still hunched over in his bed, huddled beneath the linen sheets. “I don’t have all the details myself, but… I know that Ford was devastated upon learning you were deceased. I reckon he revived you for more than for curiosity’s sake. Or for his ego.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, honestly.” Stan gives a bitter laugh. Fiddleford withers some more. Maybe his people skills aren’t working because Stanley isn’t –

 _No,_ he chides himself sternly. _Don’t even_ go _there. Stanley isn’t a zombie. He isn’t a corpse – at least, not anymore. He’s well and scientifically_ alive _, and most importantly,_ he’s still human _. Treat him like one!_

Fiddleford tries to strike up conversation again, to bring the atmosphere back to neutral territory, but it’s like every word from his mouth is barbed poison. Stan’s history with his brother is taboo. His family, too. Or where he was from, or what he was doing in the years the brothers had been apart. There’s apparently nothing Fiddleford can bring up without rubbing Stanley the wrong way and after a very uncomfortable five minutes of trying, with Stanley’s face growing darker by the second, Fiddleford finally decides to shut up.

He _still_ has two hours of watch duty to go.

x x x 

Stan, to his credit, tries to make the situation less awkward by switching on the radio. He fiddles with the dials for more time than is probably necessary, lingering on static, before finally choosing a station he’s okay with. But after that, it’s back to tongue-tied silence between them, with just the scratchy tunes of the radio crackling out across the speakers.

“Penis,” Stanley says.

Fiddleford jerks. “What?!”

The other gives him a shrewd look. “Your _pen is_ leaking,” he repeats, pointing.

Fiddleford looks down… and groans at the dark blue stain blossoming under his shirt pocket. “Dang it, Ford…!”

 x x x

“’Ford’?”

“Your brother, obviously.” Fiddleford grimaces as he pulls the ruined pen out of his pocket and… yes, those are definitely _not his_ teeth marks on the end of _his_ pen. He tosses it into the trash with a scowl and starts looking around for something to clean himself up with. “He’s like a dog, I swear, the way he chews on anything and everything that he can put in his mouth…”

Stanley groans, but this time it’s in sympathy. “He _still_ does that?”

Fiddleford whirls on him, eyebrows high. “He’s done this since he was a kid?”

“Oh yeah.” Stan rolls his eyes hard. “Didn’t matter if it was his pen or not – if he writes with it, he chews it. That’s the rules. No exceptions. Me and Ma gave up tryin’ ta make him stop a long time ago.”

“What methods did you use?”

“Well… we stuck gum on the ends’a them, once. Was hopin’ he’d take to the gum instead, but nope – the idiot swallowed ‘em all without even realizin’, and then kept chewin’. That was one heck of a trip to the doc’s, lemme tell ya.”

“Oh, sweet _god_.”

“There was also Tabasco sauce,” Stan muses, fingers tapping his chin. “And that one time I sharpened both ends’a the pencil so he couldn’t chew ‘em – ”

“ – but he chewed through the middle instead,” Fiddleford finishes, at the same time Stanley does, and the other’s eyes light up.

“Yeah! I had six pencils one day, and then… twelve, stumpy little lumps the next! Just… what the hell is his problem?!”

“ _Someone’s_ got an oral fixation, that’s what,” Fiddleford mutters, without filtering it, before his expression swiftly morphs into embarrassed, self-conscious shock. But Stanley just bursts into raucous laughter, slapping his knees.

“It’s always the quiet ones…!”

 x x x 

Talking becomes easier after that. He’ll never admit it to Ford’s face, of course, but sharing about all the tiny, insignificant ways that the other twin slowly drives him up the wall, and learning that Stan has experienced the exact same aggravations… it’s actually cathartic.

It starts out with small, trivial things: how Ford _always_ has to push his chair in after he gets up from it, even if only for a moment; how he’d do _that_ , but then never get the light switch on his way out. Leaving _one last biscuit_ in the cookie jar, or a _last sip of water_ in the pitcher, instead of emptying or re-filling it. They both snicker and stifle their laughter and as time goes on the complaints simply get meaner and crasser as they become more loose-lipped around each other.

“He actually folds his briefs!” Fiddleford explodes, and Stanley’s doubled over with laughter from nodding too much in agreement, “And he has to _sort_ them, by _color_ , from _left to right_ in the drawer and – _why_ would you need to fold your briefs?! Why?!”

“Have you ever seen him on a date,” Stanley asks, shoulders shaking.

Fiddleford shakes his head violently. “Oh, believe you me, friend – I tried. I tried _so hard_ to set him up on so many dates – but the poor lad’s married to his work. Literally. I’ve caught him crooning poetry to his journals!”

Stan guffaws. “I set him up with my ex’s cousin once, during prom night. Hot babe, nice boobs, had smarts and everything. He blew it completely by pointing out all the flaws in her makeup instead of complimenting her dress.”  

Their laughter is interrupted by a rap on the door. Stanford pokes his head in.

“Hey, guys. Is everything… W-Why are you…? What’s so funny?“

 x x x

They exchange brief conversation and Fiddleford updates Stanford with any information he needs to know before they change shifts.

“All things considered… everything looks good.” Fiddleford gestures towards Stan, smiling easily. “Memory’s still a little fuzzy concerning events leading up to his death, but…” he fixes Stan with his gaze, “I’ll leave that up for _you_ to tell us, once you do remember. And only if you want to.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stan waves him off with a grunt. “Go get lunch or whatever, Hard-on.”

Fiddleford squawks. “That’s – It’s ‘ _Hadron’_!”

He stomps away and up the stairs in an exaggerated huff.

x x x

“He was _totally_ gay for you, bro.”

“Was _not_ ,” Stanford scoffs.

“…He knew you sorted your underwear.”

_“We were roommates!”_


End file.
